


the twist in sheets

by InkWitch (serkestic)



Category: Free!
Genre: Gen, it's basically kid fic, makoharu but not really makoharu, s211 was hands down my favourite episode, seriously do not expect any romantic things because this has nothing romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2298305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serkestic/pseuds/InkWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Tachibana Makoto</b>:<br/>Please don’t lock me out. I want to talk to you about this. We need to have a proper conversa–</p>
            </blockquote>





	the twist in sheets

**Author's Note:**

> (Nanase-kun is trash. It's canon.)

_Tachibana Makoto_ : 

Please don’t lock me out. I want to talk to you about this. We need to have a proper conversa– 

* * *

 

 

Haru was five years old when he and Makoto caught their first fish. Back then, they would run along the boardwalk and play tag and hide-and-seek while the fishermen smiled indulgently and taught them the names of the different fish that could be caught in their sea and told them how to tell the difference between the scales. And all the fishermen adored Makoto; all he ever needed to was flash a smile and tilt his head just so to the side, say, “Ojii-san, may we have a sandwich?” and they would find themselves with about ten different lunch boxes. Haru himself only ever liked the fishermen who taught him about fish.

Makoto’s fisherman had showed them how to hold the fishing rod. It had been so heavy that all three of them had to hold it steady while he threw out the spool. Makoto had gotten bored about five minutes into the waiting game; he fidgeted for a little while and then let go of the rod to climb into his fisherman’s lap and beg him for some stories. Makoto’s fisherman told magnificent adventure tales. And so Haru had been left to watch the gently rolling waters for any sign of their prey, his chubby hands wrapped around the butt, just above the hook keeper, while Makoto’s fisherman held the grip for him. He hadn’t gotten bored. Haru could be very patient when he needed to be and then he _hadn't_ needed to be because the sky was a bright glittering blue, the waters were deep and free, and the waves were capped with evanescent froth.

It took fifteen minutes and thirty three waves dissolving into each other – Haru counted, his mother had taught him how to count to fifty the week before and he wanted to try – to catch their first fish. By that time Makoto had come back, only one hand on Haru’s arm as if he could push his support through Haru’s hands instead of just holding the rod like normal. The rod had jerked forward and Makoto’s fisherman had let out a big-bellied laugh – which Makoto immediately imitated with his high-pitched giggle – and Haru saw their fish. A flash of silver belly, a flick of a dark smooth tail.

“King mackerel,” Makoto’s fisherman had said, smiling warmly while the two of them peered curiously at the dark lines of bones. “And not a bad size either. You boys have done well! Do you want to take this with you?”

“Ye–”

“We want you to have it!” Makoto had said; eyes sparkling, shy smile directed to his fisherman’s right shoulder, he was an angel that no one would deny. Haru had assented with a sulky sigh.

“Thank you, Makoto-chan, Haruka-chan,” his fisherman had said. Haru had crossed his arms, head turned to one side, ignoring the hand Makoto had reflexively reached out with to take his hand. The waves were calling to him; maybe he could ditch Makoto and go to the beach. He could do that. Yes. Makoto would be sad, but Haru would deal with that brimming hurt look later. He would go looking for shells in the meantime, feet playing along the edges of the water–

“Would Haruka-chan like to help me put the fish back?”

Makoto’s fisherman had smiled at him and he pushed back his happy smile to allow a peek of a grin slip through. Makoto had yelled excitedly, punching the air and jumping up to hang off the railings while his fisherman helped Haru pick the fish up. Haru had to stand on the cooler the fisherman had brought to heft the fish up over the railings. King mackerel, Haru would remember, had a bony, scaly weight, and was so lively that Makoto’s fisherman had to help him reach it out over the water. It had grown slightly weak out of water but seemed more than eager to get back. Haru had let go with the fisherman and the fish flew; a wide arc of flashing fins and sunlight glinting off its back. He’d inhaled sharply with the fish – did fish inhale? He would ask his father – and exhaled when it hit the water surface with a loud splash. He pictured the fish weaving smoothly under the surface, feeling the water rejuvenate it, and then the fish was free at last. It would swim through the underwater world that was its home and go wherever it liked. It would breathe water and pity the humans who had tried to capture it to see its marvels.

Haru was not as fast as Makoto on their race back home that day and at dinner, when his mother asked him if he still remembered how to count to fifty, he forgot the number thirty three.

 

* * *

 

_You have 9 messages. Play messages?_

Haru-cha– Haru! Haru, are you there? …Haru, please. I’m coming over; please open the door, Haru. _Please_ ; we can’t leave it like thi–

* * *

 

Having sleepovers with just Nagisa and Makoto was simply like having sleepovers with Makoto. Nagisa got tired around eleven thirty, his energy seeping out of him like a pricked balloon; by twelve sharp he was usually fast asleep in whatever awkward position he had been in last. When Rin was around, this was delayed by another thirty minutes, Rin’s vigor feeding Nagisa’s for a while more than normal; but it was inevitable nonetheless.

Haru couldn’t help smiling at the blonde boy curled up like a cat around his legs. The blanket Makoto pulled over Nagisa a little while ago was twisted around his body. But Nagisa was warm to Haru, though his position was strange, so Haru said nothing as he lay down on his back and let Nagisa use his left foot as a teddy bear and his right calf as a leg pillow.

“He worked hard today,” murmured Makoto from the bedroll beside him. Haru considered that for a moment.

“We all did,” he finally replied. He crossed his arms to cushion his head and Makoto crept onto his bed to imitate his posture. Haru frowned at the ceiling, remembering Rin yelling at Nagisa to repeat their exchange, over and over and over again. “Rin’s too stubborn.”

“I think he’s determined,” Makoto laughed softly. “This race means a lot to him.”

“Hmph,” said Haru. “He’s too self-obsessed.”

“That’s a little ironic, coming from Haru-chan.”

Haru raised himself up on his elbows slightly to glare at his best friend. Said best friend smiled apologetically and added, “Sorry, Haru-chan. Maybe self-obsessed wasn’t the right word.”

He plopped himself back down. “Don’t say –chan. How many times do I have to remind you?”

Makoto said nothing and they lay there under that peaceful night sky, a draft blowing in through the garden, trilling the wind-chime. Nagisa shifted so that his back was pressed against Haru’s butt; Haru’s legs formed a protective arc over him. Haru sighed, eyes trained on the sky outside, not feeling the least bit tired. He’d been slightly insomniac from a young age but on sleepovers it tended to worsen; sometimes he would spend hours listening to the slow breathing of his sleeping friends, feeling like a watchful somewhat reluctant guardian, finally falling asleep around the beginnings of dawn. Makoto’s hand nudged his hand into its hold and Haru felt, rather than heard, Makoto’s whisper.

“Why don’t you like Rin, Haru?”

“He’s annoying,” came his automatic response. He sighed and wriggled when Makoto squeezed his hand. _Try again_.

“He tries too hard,” Haru said this time. “He’s too…” …annoying. Haru wasn’t paraphrasing. There was just something about Rin that he couldn’t put a finger on, something about that wild but controlled explosion of dynamism that made his skin irritated and itch. He settled on, “He dreams too much.”

Makoto laughed. “Why is that a bad thing? Doesn’t Haru-cha– Doesn’t Haru have dreams too?”

The corners of his lips turned down. “Not dreams like his.”

“Well, they don’t have to be. Haru isn’t like Rin; so your dreams ought to be different.”

Haru didn’t reply. _Do you have dreams?_ , he wanted to ask, so he didn’t. Makoto spoke up, on his own volition. “I have dreams too,” he said. “I want to live in a big house with Haru-cha– Haru and take care of Ren and Ran and my mother and father, and I want to swim backstroke forever. I want to see the Fuji Mountains and see a whale one day,” he added – Makoto’s fisherman had once told him about seeing a whale and had said that it was an experience to make a life worth living.

Haru thought Makoto’s dreams were like Makoto; happy and real and accessible. And then he thought about his dreams and all he could think was, _free free_ free _, I want to swim like a fish and breathe water and fly into a blue world and be free_. He thought about what he saw when he went to sleep, how he would see his friends flying with him, and he frowned.

“They’re not like Rin’s dreams either.”

“Because Rin isn’t like me either, Haru-chan.”

No, he wasn’t. Rin and Makoto were unlike anyone Haru knew, and so was Nagisa – and so was he, he thought. He wondered what Nagisa dreamed about and knew that they were as big as his and Rin’s and Makoto’s. He wondered if they would ever get their dreams and knew immediately that Rin and Makoto will get theirs; they could do it.

He wondered if he could be free and still dream.

 

* * *

 

_There are 14 messages in your voice mailbox._

_Playing messages._

_Message 1_ :  
Haru. I don’t know what to say. I’m s–

* * *

 

Haru slept. He ran home, washed his face, shed his clothes, took a shower – he decided he really did prefer soaking but that wasn’t, he couldn’t– he took a shower and went to bed. And fell asleep immediately.

When he woke, the clock on his bedside table blinked 11:33 PM wanly. His head felt hot and a low throb had begun under his left temple, so he got out of bed and dumped his sweaty covers on the floor in impatience. The kitchen was cooler and the cold water did him some good; he could blink his sleep away and try to think again.

The night hit him. Fireworks exploding above his head, he could hear the people talking, laughing, living below them and he couldn’t breathe anymore; how could he? He didn’t under _stand_ , he didn’t have a dream because he had already been free and he _was_ fine, Makoto didn’t _get_ it and he was the only person who was _supposed_ to get it and he didn’t, he didn’t, he didn’t–

He pressed his palms over his hot eyes and pushed until it hurt. Until he looked up and all he could see was fading light and growing darkness.

 

* * *

 

To Matsuoka Rin:  
Rin. I went to see the guidance counselor today. I’ve decided to go to a university in Tokyo. I thought… you should know.

To Tachibana Makoto:  
Shit. Wow. That’s amazing, Makoto. Congratulations.

To Tachibana Makoto:  
Have you told Haru yet?

To Matsuoka Rin:  
Not yet. I haven’t found the right moment.

To Tachibana Makoto:  
Good luck with him. Be direct, alright? Congratulations, Makoto.

To Tachibana Makoto:  
Hey, you there?

To Matsuoka Rin:  
Yes. Rin…

To Matsuoka Rin:  
Thank you.


End file.
